


i get the strangest sense we were lovers, past tense

by seashadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley's Century-Long Nap (Good Omens), Crying, Cunnilingus, Don't copy to another site, First Time, Frottage, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Other, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, they do it in 1862 and angst about it for 156 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: “Did I hear you say in full earshot of anyone,” said Aziraphale, his voice low and frighteningly controlled, “that you wanted to commit certain acts on my person?”Crowley would have bemoaned his bad luck, if he believed that luck applied to him. Instead, he considered the possibility that God hated him even more than he already knew She did. “What business is it of yours if I did?” he said. Aziraphale’s hand was blazingly warm on his arm, even through his shirt and coat. “You made your opinion of me clear.”(In which Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship takes an unexpected turn that fateful day in 1862.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 371





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atmilliways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/gifts).



> For atmilliways, who won first place in my follower giveaway on Tumblr. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Thank you so much to goosewriting (goosetooths on Tumblr) for beta-reading! 
> 
> The varying tags regarding Crowley's bits are due to the fact that he likes to switch it up between chapters.
> 
> As usual, the title is from Fratellis song lyrics - this time, the song is "Sugartown."

The scrap of paper landed in the pond, and set on fire where it landed, victim of Aziraphale’s snit and the miracle Crowley had felt him throw at it. “Obviously,” he mocked, resolutely not looking at Aziraphale’s retreating back.

That could have gone a thousand times better. _I have plenty of people to fraternize with, angel –_ a lie he hoped Aziraphale couldn’t decipher. _I don’t need you._ Another lie. He couldn’t imagine life without Aziraphale, and those were the words that had stuck in his throat when Aziraphale accused him of wanting a suicide pill. _How can I kill myself,_ he’d wanted to spit at him, _when you’re still alive in the world?_ He’d wanted to get into Aziraphale’s face and tell him the truth: there was no use dying when he had something worth living for, and that was why he needed the holy water. Hell was restless; he’d had to endure five visits in the past century. _Insurance_ , he’d said, and it was the entire blessed truth.

But now Aziraphale was gone, and with him went Crowley’s one chance of staying safe. Bitterness filled his belly and rose in the back of his throat. “Suicide pill,” he muttered, tightening his hand on his walking stick as he began to slowly circle the edge of the pond. “Think that’s what I want, do you? Think that little of me?”

A duck quacked indignantly at him from a few meters into the pond. Crowley made a rude gesture at it and flung a handful of oats in its direction with satisfying accuracy. “Bloody angel,” he said, walking a bit more around the perimeter. His shoes squelched in the grass, which was still slightly damp from the previous night’s rain. “Never kill myself, not when you’re alive. Don’t you know anything?” He kicked at a rock, undoubtedly scuffing his shoe. Aziraphale would throw a fit if he saw him. “Fine, keep your holy water to yourself. Greed’s a sin.”

He found another rock and kicked it viciously enough that it went splashing into the water. Seven skips, he noted with vindictive pleasure. Seven, Aziraphale’s favorite holy number. He’d pop something if he saw it being so misused. As for Crowley, he’d thought that this walk would help cool him off, but his thoughts were only becoming more heated. “As if I’d kill myself,” he said. It was increasingly difficult to keep his voice at an inaudibly low level. “I’d rather _bugger_ you than kill myself, you absolute –“

A hand shot out and pulled him into the nearest stand of shrubbery.

His breath gone, Crowley took a few moments to get his bearings. “What,” he said, and spat leaves out of his mouth, “what the _heaven_ is going on? Who are you?” He pulled himself up to his full hundred-eighty-five centimeters and looked down the length of his nose. Looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, bright and furious.

“Did I hear you say in full earshot of _anyone_ ,” said Aziraphale, his voice low and frighteningly controlled, “that you wanted to commit certain acts on my person?”

Crowley would have bemoaned his bad luck, if he believed that luck applied to him. Instead, he considered the possibility that God hated him even more than he already knew She did. “What business is it of yours if I did?” he said. Aziraphale’s hand was blazingly warm on his arm, even through his shirt and coat. “You made your opinion of me clear.”

“My opinion of your suicidality!” Aziraphale hissed out. “You truly do live to tempt me, don’t you? Why – _why,_ blessed why, did you think you would be able to sway me into killing you by proxy?”

“I’m _not_ killing myself,” Crowley said. “I haven’t any idea what you’d do if I did. Become bosom friends with Gabriel, probably.”

Aziraphale made a face, then immediately looked as though he wished he hadn’t. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “He’s my superior. That would be most inappropriate.”

Crowley smirked. At least he’d gotten a rise out of Aziraphale, mild as it was. “If you’re so angry with me,” he said, “why are you talking to me? I know how to hold my tongue.”

“Clearly not,” said Aziraphale. He was so close now that Crowley could smell the glass of spirits he’d had with lunch. Whiskey breath was surprisingly attractive on him. “Clearly, you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself!”

He grabbed Crowley’s lapels. For a heart-stopping moment, Crowley wondered if he was about to experience discorporation by angel – and then Aziraphale’s lips were on his, or maybe his were on Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale’s belly was warm and solid against his thin middle, and Aziraphale’s hands had left his collar in favor of roaming up and down his sides.

Crowley melted. Flames burst into being beneath his skin, and he pulled Aziraphale close, needing his touch. Needing _him_. He moaned, and Aziraphale opened his mouth – _blessed Heaven_ , his tongue was just as hot in Crowley’s mouth as Crowley had imagined. Then consciousness came back to him. He pulled away, eliciting a noise from Aziraphale that could have been disappointed or outraged. “Angel, this is a public park,” he said, “not a molly house!” Every part of him throbbed, especially those parts below his waistband.

Aziraphale slowly licked his swollen lips. Crowley tracked every movement, and sent a fervent wish to Someone that this wouldn’t be the end of it. “Come with me,” Aziraphale said, and took Crowley’s hand in an almost-crushing grip. “Come to the shop. No one will see us there.”

 _This is happening_ , Crowley thought, and almost stumbled with a sudden spell of dizziness. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be less sure if you don’t stop asking me,” said Aziraphale. Crowley determinedly kept his eyes on his face rather than letting them flick down towards his trousers, to see if he had – as the common euphemistic parlance among the celestial sorts went – made an effort. His own was threatening to strain the confines of his trousers, and possibly bring some sort of authority after him if it became too obvious. “Bless it, Crowley, you make me so very angry sometimes!”

Heat flared through Crowley again. He’d had angry sex before, sex that led to clashing teeth and someone (usually him) being pressed to the nearest hard surface and fucked like his sexual partner’s life depended on it. “ _Sssssod_ it,” he said, drawing out the sibilant as Aziraphale’s pupils dilated, “do it. Take me to your shop and let’s have a tiff before either of us changes our minds.”

“But we’re already – _oh_ ,” Aziraphale said, “ _that_ sort of tiff.” His cheeks went from pink to brilliant red, and Crowley thoroughly enjoyed watching the flush spread. “Shall we walk, or…”

“Miracle,” Crowley said. His erection was only matched by the one he’d sported some fifteen hundred years ago in the then near-crumbling Roman Empire, when he had caught Aziraphale in a _caldarium_ entirely by accident. When Aziraphale went to the _tepidarium_ and his nipples visibly tightened, Crowley had nearly lost control them and there. “I won’t…I don’t trust myself on a walk.” He swallowed against the aroused tightness in his throat. “Please.”

Aziraphale nodded and snapped his fingers. A disorienting moment later, Crowley found himself standing not in the shop, but in an unfamiliar – yet familiarly disorganized and dusty – room. “Your flat?” he guessed, and Aziraphale nodded. “Good.” _I’m honored,_ he wanted to say, without even the usual amount of sarcasm, but that was enough chatter. “Bed?”

“Oh, I’ll give you ‘bed,’” said Aziraphale, and _sweet Satan,_ suddenly Crowley was up against the wall, Aziraphale’s mouth on his, hot and angry and insistent. “You _ridiculous_ demon,” he said, undoing the buttons of Crowley’s topcoat, “how could you _ever_ ,” and his waistcoat was off, “possibly think” – there went one of his shirt buttons – “I would let you hurt yourself?”

Crowley whined and reached for Aziraphale’s clothes. His shaking hands made surprisingly short work of the linen and wool that covered far too much of Aziraphale’s soft skin. “Wouldn’t hurt myself.”

“Liar,” said Aziraphale. He pulled, and Crowley’s trousers fell off his hips and puddled around his feet as his shoes disappeared. “You dare lie to an angel about something so important?” He claimed Crowley’s mouth in another hard kiss. Crowley clutched his face and tried to refrain from crying out at the feel of Aziraphale’s undershirt scratching his nipples. “I ought to –“

“Do it,” Crowley said, and yanked Aziraphale’s undershirt until it tore. Aziraphale pulled it off the rest of the way and Crowley plastered himself to Aziraphale’s body. If he could have melted into Aziraphale, lost his corporeality and even himself for a time, he would have. “Do whatever you want, but – _Jesus_ –“ Aziraphale was biting his earlobe – “do it now, please, _please_ , now!”

He heard a noise that was surprisingly close to a growl, and then the world tilted as Aziraphale hefted him in his arms. Crowley’s cock pulsed so hard he could barely think. In a blink, Aziraphale put him down on an unsurprisingly soft mattress just hard enough to make the bedframe shake, and Crowley gazed up at him. “I _will_ do what I want,” Aziraphale said. “You’re so…so utterly frustrating!”

“ _I_ frussstrate _you_?” Crowley said, and looked Aziraphale up and down. His mouth watered, not only at the beautiful plumpness of Aziraphale’s corporation, but at his broad shoulders, the powerful set of his legs, and the nest of curls between them. “Heaven, angel, you frussstrate _me!_ You don’t ever listen!”

“I don’t know why I should,” Aziraphale snapped, falling on top of him like a beast claiming its prey and biting his way down Crowley’s neck. Once he’d made his way to the hollow of Crowley’s throat, he sucked a spot that would undoubtedly bruise, and attacked Crowley’s mouth once more. Not exactly the tender kisses Crowley had never let himself remember fantasizing about, but Aziraphale’s touches and squeezes and warm, wet mouth were fuzzing his head enough that he thought they would do just fine. Aziraphale ground his pelvis on Crowley’s thigh, and the lights in Crowley’s head abruptly went out.

He must have been making noise, because Aziraphale gave an interrogatory _mm?_ and pushed himself against his leg again. “You like that, don’t you?”

“ _Yessss_ ,” Crowley hissed. “I do. Angel, can I…?” He flicked his tongue. Even more than relief for his cock, which was so hard that it hurt, he needed to have his mouth on Aziraphale’s cunt. He’d been with enough humans to know that that was what lay beneath those concealing curls, and he needed to be between those big, powerful thighs. “Please?”

“Oh, Lord,” said Aziraphale, and swallowed hard. Crowley eagerly watched the apple of his throat bob up and down. “You don’t even want me to – oh, for Heaven’s sake, Crowley!” He shook his head. “Can’t I even be angry with you?”

“You can be angry at me for not letting you be angry,” said Crowley. Aziraphale nodded, seeming to accept this. “Ssssit on my face?”

Aziraphale laid his full weight on him and spent a few minutes kissing Crowley breathless, then maneuvered up so that his weight rested on his knees, which he positioned on either side of Crowley’s head. “Well, go on!” he said. “If you’re so insistent!”

“Jesus bloody Christ, angel, _patience_ ,” said Crowley, and looked up at the mouth-watering sight above him. The lips, as full and soft-looking as the rest of him, parted as Aziraphale shifted, revealing the beginnings of a folded pink mystery that Crowley relished the idea of solving. He took a deep breath and flicked out his tongue again, and the senses of his more serpentine self told him that Aziraphale was getting not just wet, but _soaked_. “Satan,” he said, “that’s…oh, God, that…” His head spun, and he steadied himself with a hand curled around each hip. “What did you think you were doing, hiding this gorgeoussss bit of crinkum-crankum from me all these years?” He licked a patch, wet and warm, onto each of Aziraphale’s inner thighs.

“Patience,” said Aziraphale, and bent forward just enough to tangle his fingers in Crowley’s cropped hair. Crowley’s tongue was long enough that he could have licked the under-curve of his belly if he chose, but he refrained. He had _that_ much self-control, at least. “You tell me ‘patience’, when you’re so eager to –“

“Enough,” said Crowley, “enough, I don’t want to hear about the goddamned holy water,” and surged up to bury his face in Aziraphale’s cunt without even thinking about the oxymoron in what he’d just said. Aziraphale tasted as good as he’d hoped, but nothing like he’d imagined. For all he’d spent night after night wondering, he’d never thought that this private flesh would taste so _human_ , so delicious in a way he’d known for millennia – the familiar and the unfamiliar. He smacked his lips, relishing the acid aftertaste on his tongue. Aziraphale moaned and quivered above him, and Crowley tightened his grip on his hips. “What did I say? Be patient.”

Aziraphale ground down on Crowley’s face in reply, and Crowley pulled away just enough to get a satisfying whine out of him. _Not so angelic, are you?_ “Don’t – don’t, please,” Aziraphale puffed out, “don’t stop, _Crowley,_ I need…!” He cut himself off with a wail as Crowley attacked the firm pearl of his clitoris with the tip of his tongue. “Th-there, _oooh_ …” He fell back, supine, and Crowley followed him on his belly, barely missing a beat with his tongue. 

The sound of Aziraphale begging was as intoxicating as _azallu_ , the good sort from several thousand years ago. It was as intoxicating as his taste, drawing Crowley’s tongue ever deeper as he moved it to slide inside Aziraphale’s entrance and pressed his nose against his clitoris. Aziraphale writhed, and the soft, wiry hair of his intimate parts scratched either side of Crowley’s nose. He would be wet up to the eyes by the end of this and he didn’t care. “Go on, use me,” he said as best he could into the wet flesh, and pressed his tongue forward and up, _hard_ , where the thin membranes met bone.

“Oh, _oh_!” Aziraphale cried out, and clamped his thighs around Crowley’s head. Crowley opened his mouth as far as he could without outright unhinging his jaw, moving his lips and tongue faster. Aziraphale was getting close; he could feel it in the roughening of his inner walls, the way his clitoris changed size and shape as the hood retracted. “Crowley!” He fisted his hands in Crowley’s hair and yanked hard. The world went dark, and Crowley nearly screamed, pressing against the mattress and spilling himself off an edge he hadn’t known he was approaching. Only the pulsing in front of him and the noises in his ears told him that Aziraphale had reached his peak as well.

He lay there and panted for as few minutes as he could manage without feeling like he was about to discorporate before he finally removed his face from Aziraphale’s cunt. “Jesus Christ,” he said, and smacked his dry lips. The wet mess in front of him attested to the union of his mouth and Aziraphale’s most eager parts. “You, er, you…”

“You already spent!” Aziraphale said. Crowley looked up and met his indignant stare. “Oh, I’d recognize that satisfaction anywhere, you – you _serpent_. Were you trying to thwart me, or was that simply out of spite?”

“You’re the one who pulled my hair!” Crowley protested, and winced at the sticky mess that graced his cock and the bed like a particularly demented form of baptism.

“Was I meant to know you like that?” Aziraphale folded his arms, which – given that he was lying on his back – looked more ridiculous than daunting. “Get up here,” he said, and crooked a finger. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Crowley didn’t know why he did as he was told; he only knew that he did, and that Aziraphale’s fierce kisses were just the thing for his brief spell of exhaustion. He could feel the tiredness melting from him like the bone-deep cold from his bones when he walked into the shop in the winter. Aziraphale usually had a mug of something hot waiting for him to chase the rest of the chill from his stringy excuse for a corporation. Just like Aziraphale was doing now as he slipped his thigh between Crowley’s, gentle enough to belie the intensity of his kisses and the way he squeezed Crowley’s lack of an arse. 

“I’ll get one more out of you yet,” said Aziraphale, and sharply pulled Crowley closer.

“I love you,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s hands stilled on him and fell sharply away. “What…what did you say?”

Crowley didn’t know how he felt so brave. Maybe it was the nudity, stripping away all his inhibitions. “I know you heard me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, growing brighter – and then he kissed him again, but not frantic and angry, not anymore. He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and moved to lie on his side, and Crowley followed, winding his limbs around Aziraphale and returning the kisses. “I love you,” said Aziraphale, and pressed their foreheads together. “I adore you, my dear Crowley.” He kissed him long and slow until Crowley could have cried from the sweetness, and moved his thigh just as slowly between Crowley’s legs. “For years. A-ah – oh, touch me?”

Crowley caressed Aziraphale’s soft sides, feeling the flesh tremble under his hands. “Thought you’d never ask.” The tender request was undoing him. He pushed his own thigh forward until it met Aziraphale’s cunt, still soaked from earlier, or possibly wet all over again. “For me, angel?”

“Always for you,” Aziraphale said. He buried his face in Crowley’s neck to kiss and nip. Crowley whimpered and adjusted the angle of his leg so that Aziraphale had a knee to grind on, relishing Aziraphale’s needy noises. “I’ve wanted you… _hnnn_ , such a long time.”

Crowley braced his foot as best he could against the bed and felt the outer lips of Aziraphale’s cunt separate under the pressure of his knee. “Ssso long,” he echoed. Aziraphale’s thigh rubbed against his oversensitive cock and he groaned. “Are you sssstill angry at me?”

“I should be,” said Aziraphale, breath hot and desperate on Crowley’s neck. “I – I _can’t_ be, Crowley. But I still want one more…mm, yes, darling. Like that…rub…yes,” he said as Crowley ground on his thigh, “just like that.”

“It’s a good…good thing I can do that,” Crowley said, or rather puffed. The pressure was building again, and he just knew this climax would be a full-body thing, rippling through his body like ocean waves. The slick sounds from Aziraphale’s quim and the way his folds spread so easily for Crowley’s knee told him that Aziraphale wasn’t far from something similar. “I’m not a – not a man – _fuck!_ ”

He practically spat the expletive as he met his orgasm headlong, crashing into it and letting it overtake him. He flailed, and then he floated, and he had only enough self-awareness to be proud when Aziraphale whimpered and clenched in bliss all over again.

When everything had finished, and his surge of energy had gone, Crowley clung to Aziraphale as hard as he could. Aziraphale’s belly pushed softly against his, and his legs enclosed Crowley’s in warm weight between them. “Angel,” he said quietly, “what happens now?”

Aziraphale stroked a hand down his back, slow and hesitant. “What do you mean?”

“After this,” Crowley said. Aziraphale couldn’t possibly be this dense. “What we’ve just done – what’s going to happen?” Dread was settling over him, a blanket he couldn’t throw off. If Aziraphale got so tetchy and alarmed at the idea of plain _fraternizing_ , then what was this? How could he possibly think that Heaven would condone what they’d just done? _Or Hell_ , he thought with a shiver. He hadn’t been lying when he told Aziraphale they didn’t send rude notes.

“Oh.” Aziraphale disentangled their bodies and sat up, scooting back against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest. “I…I, er…” He looked at the expanse of the bed and, for the first time Crowley could remember, was completely speechless.

Crowley couldn’t say that he was too surprised, but despite the heavy, cold feeling in his chest that resulted, he knew what he had to do. “Probably best I go, angel,” he said, getting up and looking around for his clothes. They were scattered around the room, mingled with Aziraphale’s like a storm had come through. _The first storm_ , he thought, and swallowed against the threat of his prickling eyes.

He hoped for some acknowledgment that there was an echo of that same turbulence inside Aziraphale, a ‘don’t go’ or ‘you don’t have to do this,’ or even ‘don’t be ridiculous.’ But Aziraphale’s response was no more and no less than what he expected. “Perhaps that’s best,” said Aziraphale. “I think…”

“I know,” Crowley said, and held up a hand to forestall any further attempts at trying to make this any better than it was. He tried pulling on his trousers, noted the broken button fly, and irritatedly used a miracle to dress himself instead. The sudden scrape of fabric against his well-used cock hurt, but he wasn’t about to let on. “I’ll see you, I suppose. The Arrangement…”

“The Arrangement,” Aziraphale echoed. “Yes. Do you need –“

“Don’t bother,” said Crowley. _Don’t you dare bloody look back._ “I can see myself out.”

He left the shop the normal way rather than miracling himself out. It hurt less than the alternative, like he’d just finished a tryst with some human rather than with – with his – no, _no_ , if he went with that line of thought, he’d go mad. Or discorporate, or something.

It was time, he knew, so he went out. Back to the cold, stark rooms he rented – after a fashion, at least. Down to the floor, where he sat until he noticed a layer of dust on his arms. Into his bed for a sleep that held him under like a stone on the ocean floor, slow deep breaths and the lingering tracks of tears on his face the only signs that he was alive at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mayfair flat is the perfect place to have a cathartic mental breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys got this a day early. Er...surprise?

Aziraphale took his hand, and at first Crowley thought it was an illusion, the tactile equivalent of a trick of the light. Then he wondered if it was just a trick.

And then – oh, _then_ Aziraphale didn’t take his hand away. Warmth shot up Crowley’s arm from the place where their hands entwined, Aziraphale’s warm and plump in his own. He blinked and concentrated very hard on not using a thousand miracles to stop the bus so he could cling to Aziraphale for a hundred years without being noticed.

He might have, if worry over Aziraphale’s new corporation hadn’t kept him tethered so tightly to reality.

Aziraphale was silent the entire ride back to London, but every few minutes, he squeezed Crowley’s hand, and Crowley knew _something_ had changed. It wasn’t anything as inconsequential as a new cologne, nor as world-shaking as a potential apocalypse, but – subtle, soft. He liked soft things.

It wasn’t until the bus jolted to a stop that he realized he’d been lost in his thoughts with his face pressed to the window. “Getting out?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded, quickly getting up and helping Crowley into the aisle. Really, it was ridiculous – Aziraphale was freshly reincorporated and _he_ was the one chivvying Crowley out of the bus like a weirdly polite, angelic porter. But that was Aziraphale, the same as he had ever been; the thought was a comfort.

“You’ve never been up here before, right?” he said once they were out on the sidewalk in the cooling night air, just for the sake of getting words out. He knew damn well that he’d never so much as built up the courage to invite Aziraphale to his flat over the years he’d had it. “It’s not too bad. I’ve got a bed, if you want to sleep.” He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly exhausted, and grimaced at the streak of soot on his already sooty palm. The warmth of Aziraphale’s body blazed in the air between them.

He was _real_. He was back, but he’d been gone, and it was too much. Crowley cleared his throat so he wouldn’t embarrass himself and disguised it as a cough. “So. Want to come up?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes, certainly.” Aziraphale dug his toe into the cement, which surprised Crowley enough that he had to manually keep his jaw in place. The last time Aziraphale had so much as scuffed one of his oxfords, he’d practically thrown a fit. “Er, would you like…you’re rather…” He made a sweeping motion up and down. “You’re rather, ah, sooty.”

“Fire’ll do that to you.” He shut down that line of thought quickly, because fire led back to the Bentley, and that way lay the sort of madness that could make a demon rock in a corner for five years. “You bothered?”

“Not if you aren’t,” said Aziraphale. He twisted his mouth a bit. “But that can’t be comfortable. I might…mmm, why not? While I still can, that is.” He snapped his fingers, and a ripple of energy swept over Crowley like a sonic shower from Star Trek. When he brought his hand up again, it was clean. “There now, isn’t that better?”

Crowley nodded, feeling dazed. “Yeah, much. Thanks.” He straightened his spine, which – as always – threatened to wobble like a Slinky at the slightest hint of trouble, and started towards the entrance. “Come on, then. I’m sure I can find some food.” That just sounded weird. “Er, for you. Food. Or tea. Whatever you want.”

“Very considerate,” said Aziraphale as he followed. “Thank you, my dear boy.”

The polite tone nearly broke him, but Crowley managed to keep enough control to answer with a tight nod. “No problem. Glad to do it.”

The trip up to the flat was only a bit awkward, but as soon as they got in, Crowley realized he had no idea what to do with his hands. Or the rest of him, really. “I’ll look in the kitchen if you want. I think I’ve got some tea things there.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hand as he turned to go – barely a whisper of fingertips on the back of his wrist, but it was enough to make him stop. “Can we…”

“Can we what?” said Crowley, sharper than he intended.

Aziraphale deflated. “Talk,” he said, sounding like he’d meant to say something else. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” Again, that sharpness. Crowley sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be…I almost…” His stomach, if he even had one, twisted. “You died,” he said. “You discorporated. I lost you again.”

He slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Aziraphale had already heard.

“Again?” Aziraphale said. “When did you lose me the first time?”

Everything was too bright, too liquid at the edges. “1862,” Crowley whispered. “After.” _I adore you, my dear Crowley._ And then he’d slept and slept until he couldn’t anymore, until the universe woke him and he did what had to be done. Destroying a church might have made him feel guilty if it hadn’t killed those Nazis, but it was Aziraphale who made the memory glow in his mind. “I lost you then.”

The space around Aziraphale’s eyes tightened. “You didn’t lose me,” he said. “No one did. I’m here.”

“I lost my best friend!” Crowley cried, words exploding out of him like an amatol bomb, precise and dangerous. “Didn’t you hear me? I thought you were dead forever, you angel _prick_! I thought it was Hellfire in that shop – don’t you know what that would’ve meant?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a voice that dropped to a murmur. “Oh, Crowley, I had no idea.”

Crowley ran his sleeve over his eyes, rough and angry. “’Course you didn’t. You were too busy telling me I go too fast. Whatever happened to adoration?” Seventy-nine years of sleep, seventy-seven years of longing. “I almost lost you and here you are, standing _right there_ in my flat like nothing’s happened, and – and I can’t…” There was no stopping the tears now. “Why won’t you touch me?”

“Crowley –“

“You don’t want to,” Crowley said through his clogged throat. That was the only logical conclusion to draw, wasn’t it? Aziraphale had never had an issue with going after what he wanted. “That’s okay.”

Aziraphale pulled him into his arms, and the world shifted on its axis.

Crowley knew what he smelled like, but now the scent was _more,_ more intense and more Aziraphale. “What –“

“Shhh,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley…” His voice wobbled. Jesus bloody Christ, was he…? “My _dear_ Crowley. I’ve missed you terribly.”

Queen wailed in Crowley’s head, _is this the real life, is this just fantasy_ , and he hugged Aziraphale so tightly that he gasped, just to make sure. “I missed you,” he said between hiccupping breaths. “I miss you now. That’s…it’s why I slept.”

“Hush now, there’s no need to miss me,” Aziraphale said. “Don’t cry, dear.” _Hypocrite_ , Crowley thought fondly; it was plain by the way he shook that Aziraphale was crying himself. “I’m not letting you go, never again.”

Crowley set his jaw against the tears with a force that would have ground a normal human’s teeth to sand. “Don’t, then,” he forced out between his trembling lips. “Hold me.”

Aziraphale began to rub his back. “For how long, darling?” he asked, and sniffled. “Forever?”

“Can’t do that,” Crowley said. “Got stuff to do.” Figure out how to survive without the Bentley and the bookshop, for one thing, and how to make sure that they didn’t both go up in puffs of smoke or puddles of ichor tomorrow. “But until then.” He rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Hold me ‘til then.”

Aziraphale was as good as his word. His hands rested gently on the small of Crowley’s back as he rocked them, side to side, back and forth. “I cried that night,” he said after a few minutes. “I lay down and I wept like a child.”

“I slept.” He hid his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, mindless of the overstretched pain in his back. “I sat there for ages and then I went to sleep. Didn’t wake up until 1941.” His breath hitched, and the jacket under his face grew damp. “I couldn’t…deal with it, I guess.”

“I did wonder.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry.” A tiny sob slipped out of him. “I did that to you –“

“We both did it, angel,” Crowley said. “We had to. But we haven’t got anything to lose now.”

Aziraphale kissed the side of his head, pulling a bone-deep shiver out of Crowley. “Let me hold you, dear,” he said. “Just let me do that.”

Crowley was happy to fall silent and let Aziraphale sway them in place, like a still dance. As the wetness on Aziraphale’s shoulder cooled and he felt the telltale signs of drying tears on his own, he finally, reluctantly pulled away and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Aziraphale said, and despite his wet face, Crowley believed him. “What about you, my sweet?”

“Fine,” said Crowley. He pressed kisses to Aziraphale’s cheeks, then snapped his fingers and used the resulting tissues to wipe Aziraphale’s face. “Is that any better?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Thank you, dear.” He rested the back of his hand against Crowley’s cheek. “You look done in. Would you like to have a nap? I’ll watch over you and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“I don’t think I should,” said Crowley, reluctantly shaking his head. “If something goes wrong, it’s going to take both of us to fight it. You know exactly what I mean.” Aziraphale ducked his head in acknowledgment. “We should probably stay awake until we’ve figured it out.”

“I hate to say it, but I believe you’re right.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s chin, then craned his neck and paused. “May I…?” His breath was warm against Crowley’s lips, smelling of sweet things. “I thought I lost you, too. I thought I was gone forever.”

“Thank whoever that you’re not,” Crowley said, and kissed him before Aziraphale could do it himself.

It was gentler than the last time they’d done this, but no less needy or erotic. Aziraphale parted his lips and slipped his tongue inside Crowley’s mouth when he did the same, then put his hands on the spot between his back and his arse, pulling him closer. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in sharply as he felt his body change. Aziraphale tasted just the same as he had in 1862, a taste Crowley’s mind had never let him forget. “Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, and briefly sucked Crowley’s lower lip into his mouth. “Take me to bed, Crowley. Or shall I take you?”

“Take me? What do you mean?”

“Like this,” Aziraphale said, and swept Crowley up into a fucking _bridal carry_. He was no blushing bride (or groom, or whatever), but Crowley couldn’t keep from swooning all the same. “Oh, you do like that. Where’s your bedroom?”

Crowley pointed shakily, and Aziraphale started towards his room. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he said, going pink. Crowley watched the flush spread up his neck. “I’ll admit, carrying you somewhere has been a bit of a fantasy – oh, my, your bed is enormous.”

So he had hidden depths. Crowley looked forward to bringing every one of those depths to life and teasing out the fantasies inside them. Provided they both lived through the next few days, anyway. “Put me down and you’ll find out what I can do on it besides sleep,” he said, snapped his fingers, and watched the covers fold themselves aside. The black sheets were high-thread-count cotton, not silk; he’d learned the hard way that silk was much too slippery for sleep. Or dignity. “How about it?”

“Yes, please!” said Aziraphale, depositing him on the bed. “How do you want me, darling? Shall I take everything off, or would you prefer to be teased?” He gave Crowley a good long once-over, and Crowley grew hot beneath his clothes. “I’d like to see all of you again, if that’s all right.”

“Um, _yeah_ , ‘s’fine,” said Crowley, and believed very hard that he was nude. Sure enough, he was. “How ‘bout it, angel?” He gave an exaggerated stretch, enjoying how Aziraphale’s ever-dilating eyes followed his movements. “I really want you.” He was so wet that the insides of his upper thighs were getting soaked with it, and his pelvis was beginning to ache with the strength of his desire.

Aziraphale was naked in the blink of an eye, and on the bed in another, not touching Crowley yet but looking at him with a gaze so strong that it was nearly palpable. “You’ve changed your parts,” he said.

“Yeah, I like a little variety,” said Crowley. As often as not, he wasn’t privy to the decisions his body made about what bits to have, but it didn’t matter. In terms of what he liked between his legs, he was fairly equal-opportunity. “I see you haven’t changed yours.”

“It’s more comfortable with my clothing,” said Aziraphale. He looked down at himself and laughed. “Not that that matters now.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel, get in bed with me already, would you?”

Aziraphale climbed in and wrapped his arms around Crowley. “What shall we do?” he asked. “Your wish is my command, darling. If I recall, you gave me rather more attention last time than I gave you.”

“Ngh,” Crowley said, and went warm all over. “The firssst kind of attention, or the second kind?”

“Well, if you must know,” Aziraphale said, “I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about the first.” He averted his eyes, and Crowley followed his gaze down the path of his body long enough to discover that Aziraphale’s blush went all the way down. “You’re not the only one with a talented tongue.”

“You got that one from Star Trek,” Crowley blurted out, and immediately cursed himself for an idiot.

Aziraphale tilted his head. “From what now?”

“Ugh, just – never mind. Get on top of me, would you?” Crowley very much wanted less talking and more kissing in this situation. “Then, uh, the tongue thing. Mm. Yeah. Do that?” The gears in his head were all grinding against each other, and he really hoped that they wouldn’t stop completely. “Please?”

Aziraphale settled on top and kissed him breathless. Crowley had a few minutes to enjoy the weight on top of him before Aziraphale began moving down his body. With his mouth. “ _Guh_ , mm,” Crowley said, and then “Son of a _bitch!_ ” as Aziraphale went for his nipples. Aziraphale had a way with his mouth that rivaled _The Taming of the Shrew_ ’s put-upon female protagonist. “Fuck, oh, fuck,” he chanted, then grabbed at Aziraphale’s hair when he felt an all-too-familiar pressure building between his legs. “Aziraphale, stop! If you keep it up, I’ll come.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley’s left nipple a final lick and looked up at him with almost demonically-curious eyes. _Shit._ “Will you now?” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “I’ll have to remember that. My, my.” He planted a line of kisses down Crowley’s belly, which Crowley couldn’t stop from quivering, then stopped above his mound. “I’ve been wondering how you taste for years.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” said Crowley in a far more strangled tone than he intended. Aziraphale’s soft, almost-white curls were perfectly set off by the patch of red hair in front of him, lighter than the hair on Crowley’s head. He cursed his years of observing artists as his mind started making comparisons to the layouts of various Renaissance paintings. “It won’t eat you, angel.”

“No, I’m expecting rather the opposite situation,” Aziraphale said. He lowered his head. And –

“Oh, fff _fuck me_ ,” Crowley gasped, hands flying to Aziraphale’s hair, as Aziraphale wiggled his tongue between his labia. 

Aziraphale lifted his head, tongue still out, wearing the world’s most devious expression. “Another time, dear.”

Crowley spread his legs a little wider, shivering when his wet inner labia separated. “No, you’re right. I like thisss better.”

Aziraphale went back to his task, and _Mary Magdalene_ , if Crowley hadn’t so thoroughly explored every inch of the Garden when he was there, this would have convinced him that Eden had spawned another sentient serpent without his knowledge. Aziraphale alternated licks with sucking kisses, bringing Crowley almost to the edge over and over and backing down with softer touches. Crowley was soon panting and soaked with sweat, unable to think for the pleasure that bloomed wherever Aziraphale put his mouth. “Angel…angel, could I…”

“You’d like to come,” said Aziraphale without lifting his head. The vibrations traveled through Crowley’s cunt, and he bit his fist so he wouldn’t moan. “May I put a finger inside you?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” said Crowley, and moaned as Aziraphale slid a wonderfully thick finger inside him. “Oh – yessss, just – yeah, _there_!” He couldn’t imagine that Aziraphale had a hell of a lot of experience, but he knew just how to crook his forefinger. “Can I...can I please come? Please, angel?”

“So polite,” Aziraphale cooed, giving Crowley’s clit a slow upward lick. “I’ll be rather upset if you _don’t_ come this minute.”

Crowley spared a moment to be impressed at the steadiness of Aziraphale’s voice before all his thoughts fragmented completely.

When he finished coming, Aziraphale wasn’t between his legs anymore, but rather lying next to him and kissing his neck. “How was that, dear?” Aziraphale asked, as solicitous as a server inquiring into his customer’ enjoyment of their wine. “Did I make you feel good?”

“I think I experienced liftoff,” Crowley replied, and pulled Aziraphale into a deep kiss. Aziraphale tasted like him, and it was insanely hot. His cunt twitched, and he filed away the idea of another go sometime in the near future. “How about you? What’s going on down there?”

“Quite a bit, thanks to you,” Aziraphale said. “Did you want to…examine it?”

“I want to do a little more than that.” Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s belly. “Can I use my fingers?”

Aziraphale gave a delicious shiver and hid his face in Crowley’s shoulder. “Please do,” he said. “I can take two.”

“Okay, angel.” Crowley splayed his hand on Aziraphale’s mound and pushed a finger between his labia, finding him so wet that he groaned. “God…” He pushed two fingers slowly inside him, found Aziraphale loose and aroused enough that they went in with no problem, and added a third. “How’s this?”

Aziraphale made a noise that was part squeak, part moan, and part wail. Maybe part scream, Crowley couldn’t be sure. “ _Ahh –_ fuck me, Crowley, fuck me, yes, _fuck_ me with those beautiful long fingers…” He pulled Crowley close with a hand on the back of his head and kissed him so hard that Crowley knew his lips would be swollen later.

Crowley pulled away just long enough to say “Language, angel,” then went back to kissing Aziraphale and listening to his needy cries as he fingered him closer and closer to what, judging by the way Aziraphale tightened around him, seemed like it would be an explosive orgasm. “You want to let go for me, you can. I want you to.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hair in his fist and threw his head back, giving Crowley an excellent vantage point by which to attack his neck. Three kisses in, he felt Aziraphale pulse and he redoubled the pace of his fingers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, and came hard, squeezing his fingers in long, shuddering waves and tightening around them until Crowley’s knuckles knocked together. “Crowley, I love you, oh, I love you – my dear –“ He caught Crowley in a clumsy hug that was nevertheless hard enough to remind Crowley just exactly who his angel was.

Crowley closed his eyes and hung on tightly, waiting until Aziraphale’s orgasm faded to gently pull his fingers out. He brought them up to his mouth and licked with the very tip of his tongue. “As you would ssay, _ssscrummy_ ,” he told him, and laughed at Aziraphale’s groan. “So now we’ve both tasted each other. How do you like it?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale kissed his collarbone. “I think we complement each other well.”

Sweat gathered between them, warm and uncomfortably slippery. Crowley made a face. “I wish we were the same people,” he said. “One person. I wish I could pour myself into you like a cup. Like –“

The idea hit him like a burning Bentley. “Angel,” he said slowly, taking Aziraphale’s hand, “I’ve got an idea.”

Aziraphale looked up and cracked his eyes open. “Hmm?”

Crowley grinned. “How would you feel about trying something _really_ new?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then canon happened. :D 
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr as godihatethisfreakingcat. :)


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